Chapter Text
When you were little, a girl of no more than six, you had been convinced that one day you would marry your cousin Valarr. The boy was older than you by about six years as well, and luckily had the kind temperament (even at that age) to not be annoyed with a little girl constantly trailing him.
You had seen his pretty mismatched eyes, his soft brown hair with the white streak running along the back, but most of all, you had seen the way he was kind to you. He always brought you sweets and remembered your favourites, ensuring that he had some in his pocket whenever he saw you next. He always smiled at your approach, never sneering at you or telling you to buzz off like your brother Aerion did, and it had all culminated in you announcing to everyone that one day you would marry your sweet Valarr.
Everyone had laughed at you, pinching your cheeks and wishing you the best in your endeavour. Your mother had been sweet about it, kissing your cheeks and telling you that one day she hoped you would be married for love. Your father gruffly told you to stop thinking about Valarr, that he would kill off every man in your vicinity that even looked in your direction (to which you had responded with a glare and indignantly argued that you would marry Valarr even if it made your father angry, ever his daughter). Your brother Daeron was dismissive, smiling softly at you and humming a ‘yes, sure’ then turning away with haunted eyes, and Aerion pulled your hair and scowled at you and told you that you would never be married because you were a pathetic little girl who could not do anything for the house of the dragon.
At that you had run off crying, going to look for Valarr so he could comfort you and tell you that Aerion was being horrible and simply lying. You had raced through the halls of the Red Keep only to bash into the legs of your Uncle Baelor. He reached down quickly to scoop you up, holding you to his chest as you cried and blubbered, looking up at him with your big teary eyes. He frowned down at you, caressing your cheeks and wiping your tears, running a hand over your little head and hushing you, asking you what had happened to make you cry so. You clung to his doublet with your little fists, sniffing loudly and pouting as you told him about what Aerion said.
Your uncle smiled softly down at you, a glint of fondness in his eyes. He caressed your hair again and told you not to cry, to forget Aerion’s malicious words because he had no idea what he was talking about. He told you that you were a sweet girl with a big heart, that you had enough love to spare for many others and that was what made you strong. He had pressed a kiss to the top of your head and put you back down on the floor, telling you to run off and have fun now. You had beamed up at him then, wrapping your arms around his legs and hugging him for a moment as you mumbled ‘thank you Uncle Baelor’, then sprinted back off again.
Everything had been good, your childhood had been fun, then your father had been given Summerhall and suddenly you were being ripped away from it all. On your final day in the Keep, you could only sob, your little body shaking as you screamed and yelled at your parents. You had been resistant to being loaded into the carriage, crying and clinging to Valarr, telling him to keep you there, to tell your parents to leave you be, but he could only laugh sadly, bending down to hug you and press kisses to your little head.
He tried to convince you that it would be alright, that Summerhall was beautiful and that you would have an absolute whale of a time there, but you just shook your head and sobbed, clinging to him even tighter. You had only slightly loosened your grip when he promised you that he would come visit as often as you wanted, that you would never feel alone. You had pulled back and looked up at him, eyes red limned and full of tears, your lower lip pouting as you trembled out a ‘promise?’ and he hurriedly agreed.
“Will you not say goodbye to your uncle?” Baelor had asked then, hoping to distract you from Valarr, but that had simply set you off again, this time over him. You had thrown yourself at his legs, clinging to him in the hopes that you would not be ripped away. Your tears wet the knees of his trousers and he bent down to clutch you close to his chest, his eyes closing against the top of your head. You were such a happy and fun little girl, he knew he would feel your absence keenly in the Keep. He rubbed your back and told you the same things that Valarr had told you, that it would not be long before they were due for a visit, that you would not miss them too much because you would be so busy in your new home, and that everything would be alright.
It took your father physically gripping you under the arms and hauling you out of Baelor’s grip to finally get you in the carriage. He sat you on his own lap, pressing your face to his chest and shushing you against your ear, telling you not to waste your precious tears for you were far too pretty for that. You clung to him as the carriage pulled away, whimpering sadly the entire journey to Summerhall…
As the years passed, so did your fancy. You had been upset for the first few weeks at Summerhall, constantly begging your mother and father to write to Uncle Baelor and Valarr to come visit you, but eventually you had become far too busy with your own life to worry about that.
The promised visits never came, and it was mostly your father who went up to King’s Landing rather than the Crown Prince coming down for a visit. You grew into a lovely young woman, capable of beautiful embroidery and tapestry, swift on a horse and dainty on the dance floor. You spent so much time reading or traversing the woods around your beautiful home that you scarcely had time to think about the childish infatuation you had once harboured. Though your parents did remind you occasionally, forcing you to flush hot with embarrassment and beg them to hush about it once and for all.
Sometimes you did think about Valarr though, with a fondness and thanks that one would have once they gained awareness. You were thankful he had always treated you nicely despite how surely annoying you must have been. It was funny now to think of how different you had become. And you thought about him in another way too, wondered how he had grown, if he was as handsome now as he had been before, if he would still be kind to you if you ever met.
And you were often hit by pangs of longing for your Uncle Baelor, wishing for his calm and assertive presence, particularly in the moments when Aerion took it upon himself to lecture you about your life or torment you in some way or other.
Then one day your father brought the news that you were all to leave for King’s Landing. He sat down at the dinner table and informed you all, saying that it was the King’s fiftieth year of rule and the whole family was to gather in the Red Keep for celebrations and joyousness. You nodded sagely at your father, but inside you were giddy. It had been too many years since you had been in King’s Landing, and you wished to see it now, with grown eyes and a mature mind.
The next few days were spent packing everything up and readying for the long journey. You would be gone for a while, and you spent a little time saying goodbye to some of your belongings before hurrying down and getting yourself into the wheelhouse before your father had cause to be angry with you.
When the lot of you reached King’s Landing, Prince Baelor and Valarr came out to greet you. You stepped out of the wheelhouse with eyes blown wide in wonder. You looked around you as if seeing everything for the first time. It felt like it, your memories from before slightly fuzzy and disjointed. You raked in all the sights, the yellow sandstone and towering pillars, the bustling courtyard and the windows set high up into the towers you could not quite see the tops of. You almost tripped stepping out of the carriage, the footman reaching quickly out to steady you.
You thanked him in a breathless little voice then continued looking around. You could hear your father ahead of you greeting his brother and nephew, your own brothers following suit, but you were far too busy trying to spot the birds that flew high up into the sky and listening to the Sept bells tolling across the city.
A throat cleared just ahead of you, and you looked back to find a handsome young man smiling warmly at you. He wore all black, little red accents here and there to denote his house. His hair was a nice warm shade of brown, oddly comforting, and he had lovely clear eyes, slightly squinted with his smile, one blue and one brown. And he was smiling at you, sweet and knowing and utterly, immensely charming.
“Cousin,” he greeted, offering you his hand as you stared up at him with wide awed eyes. It was only instinct that made you place your hand in his grip, watching him bend a little and bring the back of it to his lips so he could leave a little kiss there atop your knuckles.
“Cousin,” you answered, old enough now to know to mind your tongue and not blurt out the million thoughts that raced through your head and wished to escape through your lips. You stared at him, dazed and unable to fully close your mouth, and he was looking at you with bright eyes and a jovial smile.
“It has been far too long since I have seen you,” he told you kindly, continuing to hold your hand in his grip. “I last remember you clinging to me and crying, begging not to leave King’s Landing,” and his smile became mischievous then, teasing. You felt your entire body burn red hot, the shame and embarrassment of your past antics flaming through you.
You bowed your head, thinking your hair would fall forward and hide your face for a moment, but the braids were done just enough to keep it from your face and you felt far too exposed. Valarr squeezed your hand a little, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight.
“It has been upwards of fourteen years, yes,” you sighed, touching your face lightly and glancing away from him. You could not breathe. He had grown into the handsome young prince he ought to be, and it was not good for your nerves.
“Goodness,” he sighed in return, and before you could pull away, he threaded your arm through his and turned toward where your father stood with your Uncle Baelor.
And then it was like Valarr was forgotten, because for however handsome you found him, your Uncle Baelor was something else entirely. The man turned away from your father, and once his eyes caught sight of you, he was beaming with pleasure. His eyes widened, his smile too, and he beckoned you closer. You felt awe struck.
He was tall, broad shouldered, standing straight yet relaxed. The years had been good to him, white peppering his hair and beard but only serving to make him look dignified. His eyes were piercing, and when he held out his hand to you, you felt faint just at the size of it. Oh goodness, how were you to survive this trip if you could not even stay standing at the sight of your cousin and uncle?
You let go of Valarr, forgetting him like day-old plums, and rushed to greet your uncle Baelor, throwing yourself at him as you had done when you were a child. You were well aware it was not proper, but you would accept any chastisement if it meant you got to do it.
Baelor was happy to wrap you up in his arms, laughing loudly as he greeted you, rubbing his palm along your back as you pressed your face to his chest. He smelt of something spicy and clean and you took a deep inhale, letting your eyes flutter shut.
“My sweet girl,” he greeted, bending his head down so his chin rested on the top of your head. “You have grown into a marvellous young woman. Thank the Seven for it,” he sighed, pulling back to grip your upper arms and get a good look at your face.
You beamed up at him, blinking your eyes rapidly and not tearing your gaze from his face. He was smiling as well, bright and kind, the way you remembered, and it sent a warm pulse through you.
“Let go of him, silly girl,” your father instructed, and though he sounded gruff, there was never malice in his tone. Your father had a soft spot for you, you knew it, and he could never get himself to be particularly harsh to you. You yielded that to your advantage far too often.
You stepped back from Baelor’s grip, clasping your hands together in front of you and moving to stand just to the side of your father, but you kept your eyes on your uncle. He too continued looking at you, pride beaming through him.
Valarr stood to the side, his smile a little tighter than before as he watched you, completely oblivious to the attentions of anyone but your uncle. He stared at you discretely, looking over your hair, the strands that would have fallen forward onto your face pulled back into small intricate braids that rested prettily on top of the rest of your luscious head of hair.
He raked his eyes over your dress, immensely beautiful and denoting a princess. You wore red, as most of House Targaryen did, but this was beautiful and bright, like fresh blood, and the fabric was thin and airy, like that which came from Dorne and was best for the summer months. The bodice was tight and formfitting, accentuating your breasts rather too well, and he felt his cheeks flush as he averted his eyes. It was rather good that your thick black cloak clasped over your chest, hiding much else from view.
He looked at your face, your pretty eyes and long lashes that brushed your cheeks as you blinked, your lips, so plush and pouty and perfect, even your cheeks, just the right shape. Valarr could only describe you as pretty, beautiful, far too much of both of those things to be anything but dangerous. He felt a little off-kilter, his smile dropping from his face.
It was rather stupid to think now, but he had been expecting something of a repeat of the years past. He had believed you would be bashful and easy to tease, inadvertently falling into the patterns of your girlhood and trailing after him. How foolish he had been.
You had grown into a beautiful young woman, with grace and tact and respectability. You were kind and a little bashful, easy to tease, yes, but still able to handle yourself. And the worst bit of it all, you did not seem to care as much for him as you had once done, because you were far too busy being fixated on Baelor…
Baelor wrapped an arm over Maekar’s shoulders, shaking his younger brother a little in a way that annoyed him immensely, before telling him to come into the warm keep and rest and refresh a while. You sidled your way to your uncle’s other side, slipping your arm around his and clutching him close, continuing to look up at him with slightly wide, enamoured, eyes. Baelor smiled down at you, happily allowing you to hang onto him, and then led everyone into the Keep.
Valarr watched after you for a moment, feeling a little flabbergasted and indignant at the way you had forgotten his presence in mere moments, and found himself falling into step beside Aerion. He too was scowling, annoyed that you were getting all the attention and he was forced to step back and simply be a part of the crowd. Valarr glanced at his cousin and grimaced before quickening his step to follow after you. He had met Aerion more recently than he had seen you, and he knew he would rather walk alone than be forced to converse with the spoiled prince.
“How was the journey, not too rough I hope?” Baelor asked, looking between you and your father. You all sat around a table ladened with food and drink. You noticed lemon cakes and cherry tarts and all the things you had once (and still) loved, dotted about. Someone poured tea in your cup and you nodded in thanks before turning back to look at your uncle.
Valarr sat to your right, but your head barely turned that way, your gaze mostly fixated on Baelor. You were transfixed, shocked at how much his mere presence had affected you. Was this truly the uncle of your childhood, this strong-shouldered man with such pretty eyes and a voice that could make you commit the most grievous sins without question?
“Were these not your favourites once, little cousin?” Valarr asked, bringing the plate of little puffy rounds full of sweet cream closer to you. You finally turned to look at him again, smiling joyfully and nodding enthusiastically.
“Awh, it is sweet of you to have remembered,” you told him, reaching over and picking two up delicately and placing them on your plate.
“I remember when you were still a babe, just learning how to walk and grip your own food, and you used to squash those things in your little palms,” Baelor spoke across the table, looking at you with such fondness in his eyes that you flushed with warmth and preened under his gaze.
“Yes, she was rather a rambunctious child,” Maekar grumbled, though his eyes twinkled with humour and you leaned over and bumped his shoulder with yours.
“You say that, Father, but I must have learnt it from somewhere and mother was never anything less than elegant,” you responded, raising your eyebrows at him as he let slip a little smile. You truly were his most cherished child, the only one who (though still gave him grief) always made up for it with everything else.
“She was not rambunctious, she was joyful,” Baelor defended, and you smiled triumphantly, nodding toward him in thanks.
“And rather demanding,” Valarr added with a smirk. “My attention was not to be on anyone else when in your company,” and you could just hear the teasing in his tone. You felt red hot again though prepared. You knew it would come up at some point, your early infatuation with him, better to get it out of the way now.
You hid your face behind your hands, letting little embarrassed giggles fall from your lips. You peeked at him from between your fingers and shook your head.
“Of course you would remind me of that,” you sighed, dropping your hands back into your lap and looking down at them. “I knew I was not to get away without being teased about my childish obsession.”
“It would not be right of me not to tease you!” He responded, laughing and leaning a little closer to you. “You were so little yet so adamant on marrying me that I could not help but be flattered.”
You smiled at him then, softer and more appreciative, and you reached out and pulled the creampuff in half, the sweet middle spilling onto your fingers a little.
“It was your own fault, really” you argued, shrugging your shoulders as you brought one of the pieces up and close to your face. “If you had not been so free with your sweets, I should not have been so enamored!” A laugh passed around the table, interrupted only by Aerion’s angry silence and aided by your father’s quiet chuckle.
You brought the bit of pastry to your mouth and gently popped it between your lips, chewing a little and humming in pleasure. You did not think and licked the cream from your fingertips, sticking your tongue out a little.
Valarr froze in his seat, staring at you with slightly widened eyes. Did you not realise what a sight that was? His blood rushed out of his head and straight to his core and he suddenly felt immensely hot and ill. His hands tightened on the arms of his chair and it took every ounce of his self-control to lean back as if he was casually changing his posture.
Across the table, Baelor stared as well, though he was considerably better at hiding his own reaction. His eyes followed your fingers, the flick of your tongue, and he forced himself to look away. He was not meant to have seen that, to have felt that way, and he returned his eyes to his brother.
Maekar was glaring at his nephew, mentally thrashing him for looking at you in that way, and he too used all available control not to jump across the table and smack Valarr across the face and tell him to keep his eyes away from you.
“These are just as good as I remember!” You exclaimed, smiling happily and looking up between Valarr and Baelor. Both offered you similar grimacing, tortured, smiles. “I am rather excited for the festivities, I am sure they will be grand.”
“Yes, there is much to do and enjoy,” Baelor responded, his voice a little rougher than before, and he took a sip from his cup, swallowing strongly. “There is to be feasting and dancing every evening for a week straight, and fairs and markets for the smallfolk in the city proper.”
“If you step even a single foot outside these castle walls without my knowledge, I will have you locked up until your hair grows long enough for you to escape with it,” your father quickly warned, looking at you with his customary heavy glare. You scoffed indignantly at first, then you simply smiled brightly at him and leaned over to flick him on the arm. You had been given the good graces of your mother to always respond to your father with a smile and a tease.
“You say that now but then you would complain because you would be forced to keep me company!” And another laugh travelled around the table, you simply sitting back satisfied with yourself, and putting more of the pastry in your mouth.
You sat leisurely in the bath, humming softly to yourself as you moved your hands under the water, pulling them up and watching the water drip back down into the tub with little ‘plink’ noises. The hearth was well lit and you felt lovely and warm, the scent of fresh flower petals filling your nose as they floated around in the bath with you. This was perfect, exactly what you needed after a few busy and rather confusing days in King’s Landing.
Each morning you breakfasted with the whole family, Valarr and Baelor always joining you without fail. Valarr somehow managed to find a seat next to you each time, but you did not care much because your attention was always on your uncle. Baelor was so… wonderful.
You had never been so enamoured with someone, at least not in your recent memory. There had been a silly crush on a stable boy in Summerhall, but he had married a chambermaid and you had gotten over it with barely a tear shed. But Baelor…
You stared at him unabashedly, smiling when he met your gaze and watching him as you chewed distractedly. You felt frazzled, a little insane with how much you felt. But you could not stop. And Baelor did not help. He was always glancing up at you, always looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time, always looking away as if he had been caught doing something he should not. You did not want him to look away. You wanted him to keep his eyes on you forever…
You sighed quietly as you lay back a little further in the bath, closing your eyes and thinking of Baelor. It was funny, really, how you had become as obsessed with Baelor as the little version of you had been obsessed with Valarr. You liked to believe it meant growth.
There was a quiet knock at the door, and you sunk a little further into the bath, hoping to enjoy a moment more before the maids came in to take it all away.
“Come in,” you called quietly, opening your eyes just as the door opened and Baelor stepped in. Your eyes widened, hands instantly coming up to cover your chest under the water as you stared up at him. Baelor’s mouth dropped open a little as he looked down at you, before he swiftly turned around.
“I am sorry,” you began quickly, pulling your knees up to your chest to hide behind them. “I believed you to be the maids returning.”
“It is alright,” he responded, his words tight as he forced himself to look at the wall in the distance and keep his back turned to you. “I only wished to give you something but I can see I have intruded.”
“No!” You jumped a little, suddenly desperate to keep him there despite how exposed and vulnerable you felt in your position. It felt as if this was your only chance to get him to look at you the way you wished him to. Though you kept your knees up, you leant forward a little, as if silently begging him to turn around and look at you again to see how earnest you were. “No, please do not.”
He paused for a moment, his head bowing as he looked down at his shoes. Baelor clenched his eyes shut (though you could not see) but rather than helping him, it only flashed the image of you, relaxing in the bath, your breasts just dipped in the water and your nipples hardened to little points, over and over again.
“It is improper of me to be here with you in such a state,” he told you quietly, and his voice was still tight, gruff, pained, and you gripped the edge of the bath as you stared up at his back. He had not moved yet, neither to stay nor to leave, and you prayed he would not choose the latter.
“As long as there is no one to witness it, is it really impropriety?” You asked, half-joking, your tone a little lighter than before. Baelor huffed out a chuckle, one small sound that was not meant to come out so, and you saw his shoulders relax a little. He turned back, but stopped himself before he could face any farther than the door.
“That is simply an excuse people use to justify their improper actions. As long as it is being committed, then it is improper,” he retorted, one eyebrow raising.
“Hm, true,” you responded, furrowing your brows a little in thought. “But it’s alright,” you then broke out, as if you had come to a decision. “Sometimes one needs a little impropriety in their life to make it interesting,” and you giggled a little.
The sound sent a spike of warmth through Baelor and his smile was instant, uncontrolled. He turned a little more again, still not looking at you, but now you could see a good half of his face. It was better than nothing, and you relaxed some in the bathtub, your legs moving forward a little so they were not clutched as tight to your upper body.
“You speak as if from experience,” Baelor rejoinded, that same eyebrow rising again as he questioned you. Your smile was wide and cheeky, the water swishing as you adjusted yourself to sit up a little in the tub.
“Not much, but perhaps some,” you responded cryptically, though you knew it was a complete and utter lie. You were far too sheltered by your mother and father to have been exposed to impropriety of this sort before.
“You said you wished to give me something,” you spoke again before the room could fall into silence, resting your head on the edge of the tub and blinking up at him. “What is it?”
One of his hands was held in a fist, and he raised it a little, opening his palm flat and looking at what lay there.
“A present,” he answered simply at first, before he moved to hold the things with his thumb and index finger. It was a pair of earrings, beautifully crafted things more laden with rubies than many other pieces of jewellery you had seen. They looked like dragons, their spines inlaid with the rubies, and you were shocked at how a craftsman could even create something like that.
“Oh my,” you sighed, rising a little in the tub and wincing when the cold metal pressed against your breasts.
“A welcome present, something for you to wear during the festivities,” Baelor responded simply, but he hadn’t stepped closer to give them to you, hadn’t made any move other than to dangle them from his fingers like a tantalising temptation.
“Please bring them to me, I wish to see them up close,” and you reach out your hand in his direction, pressing yourself right to the edge of the tub and gazing up at him with bright, wondrous eyes. He did not move yet, frozen with indecision. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, seeing only your outstretched arm and a little bit of your face. Instead of turning to face you, he took a few steps back and when he was only just in front of the tub, he reached down and back a little to hand you the earrings.
You took them from his grip, but before he could step away again, you gripped tightly onto his hand again to keep him there. You put the earrings in your free hand and examined them there, sighing with joy as you looked at how pretty they were. They would be perfect to wear with many of your dresses. And if Baelor gave them to you, then you would cherish them like nothing else.
“Thank you, Uncle Baelor,” you told him softly, returning your gaze to him. He was awkwardly turned, still trying to face away from you, to do the right thing, but unable as you kept your grip on his hand. You stared up at him, at his strong arms which somehow had not pulled away yet, and his broad back. He could have ripped his hand away a long time ago, he chose not to.
Slowly, carefully, you pulled his hand closer until it was caressing your neck. You pressed it there, spanning it along the soft skin there, and you shivered, sighing quietly.
“What are you doing, my girl?” He asked, voice low and gravelly, still not turning to fully face you. He kept glancing down though, and you knew that soon you would break him.
“I wanted to feel your hands,” you responded quietly, voice just above a whisper, slowly beginning to guide his hand a little further down your neck, splaying it onto your collarbone. “I wanted to know what they felt like against my skin.”
“You should not be doing this,” he said, that same quiet voice, tight and pained now. “I should not be doing this.”
“I know,” you whispered, still blinking up at him, lips parted. “But I want it so badly.”
His eyes fluttered closed as you guided his hand lower, dipping it under the water and curling it around your breast. You breathed out a little sound, this quiet little thing of pleasure as you cupped his hand around the fat, grazed his palm against your nipple. He swallowed harshly, his hand tightening there of his own accord, feeling the soft skin under the water. His hand was calloused from years of experience with a sword, and the roughness of it made you shudder, made you moan softly as he held you there.
“Please, Uncle Baelor,” you breathed out, running your hand up his arm a little. When his eyes finally fluttered open, he turned to fully look at you, awkwardly bent a little to keep his palm cupped around your breast. You stared up into his eyes, licking your lips as you gripped his hand and kneaded it there, moaning quietly. He stared at you, eyes hooded with pain and pleasure melded together.
You gripped his hand a little tighter, making sure he would not let go, then began traversing it further down your body. Baelor’s entire body shuddered, mouth opening to release a shaking breath as he slowly dropped to his knees beside the tub. His free hand came up and gripped the rim, his fingers turning white. You licked your lips, continued staring into his eyes. His sleeve became wet as his hand fully submerged under the water, running over your stomach then to the dark space between your legs.
He shivered again, his eyes closing as you dragged his fingertips over the lips of your core, as you gasped a little and then pressed firmer there, moaning and shaking. He clenched his jaw, his hand tensing, but he did not force you to let go. He could not understand how you were so warm there, so soft and hot, even under the water. His index finger separated the lips and pressed against the little nub of flesh that made you shiver and squirm, the little thing that made your entire body flush and caused sounds out of you that made Baelor begin praying to the seven.
“Uncle,” you breathed out, your eyes fluttering half-shut, and he panted a little, his hand tensing even further but staying there in your grip. Your other hand clenched around the earrings, the jewels and the hook digging into your palm.
You pressed his fingers there, rubbing yourself against the tips. Your stomach was full of warmth, the space between your legs sparking. Your limbs felt full of it too, those tendrils that reached out through you and softened near the tips of your fingers and toes. You dragged his hand down even further, right to your entrance and pushed in there with a gasp. His head dropped, chin touching his chest as he took control of his hand once more and pressed his middle finger up into you.
“Hah,” you let out sharply, mouth dropping open at the feeling. He pushed up until he could go no further, gripping the edge of the bathtub tightly as he felt your warm flesh fluttering around his finger, clenching so tightly then releasing then clenching again.
He moved it back a little then up into you again, the rub of it spiking warmth through you in a way you had only experienced very briefly in the dead of night. He looked up just so, his eyes opening to devour the sight of you there, wet from the bath, legs and hands trembling. Your knees were still bent, pressed up, and your thighs were trying to close around his hand, but it was there to stay.
“Uncle Baelor,” you breathed out, undecided between leaning back to stretch out in the bath and curling yourself up tight in an attempt to intensify the feelings shooting through you.
“Sweet girl,” he sighed, voice low and gravelly, and he continued the motions with his hands.
In, out. In, rub that spot with his thumb, out. In and out and in and out, and suddenly you were curling a little more into yourself, the heat and pleasure tightening in your stomach. And in and out and in and the water was disturbed, splashing a little at the speed and intensity. And out and in and out and in and you were gripping his arm tightly, moaning and gasping like you had never learnt how to to breathe. And in and out and-
“Unh! Uncle! Baelor!” And your eyes were pinched closed, mouth open, high keening sounds leaving you. Your chest heaved and you felt overcome, the pleasure like sunlight seeping through every limb and every nerve. Everything was tensed up, the water still sloshing from the intensity of each action, and his hand was still moving a little, easing you through it, waiting for you to relax a little against the wall of the tub before pulling his finger out of you.
Baelor stared at you, his own upper body moving up and down with heavy breaths. He allowed his hand to stay resting in the bath water, draped over the edge. His other hand stayed clenched on the edge, and if he was any stronger he may have cracked the metal.
You lay there, the water cooling your skin, and fluttered your eyes open, staring at Baelor with a new brightness, feeling a changed woman, your mouth still parted. He looked over you, running his eyes from your breasts up to your face, and then down along your arm that was draped over the other side of the tub. A little rivulet of blood raced down your palm and dripped into the water.
“Sweet girl,” Baelor mumbled, instantly reaching over to bring your hand close to him with a frown. You moved with the motion, leaning a little closer to rest your hand on the rim of the tub closest to him. He unfurled your fingers from around the earrings he had only just gifted you, and found that you had clutched them so hard in your pleasure that the hooks for your ears had dug in and welled a drop of blood.
He tutted quietly, a frown marring his features, and he softly took the earrings and placed them on the floor next to where he kneeled. He flattened your palm, using his wet hand to wash away the blood that had dripped down. Then, with slow and soft motions, he brought your palm to his face and kissed you over the tiny wound, his lips soft, his beard tickling. You felt as if you could reach your peak of pleasure from that alone.
You sat beside Valarr in the gardens and watched Baelor and Maekar in the distance, sitting around their own table with a few other lords discussing something or other that you were not privy to.
“You have not given me nearly enough attention this visit, cousin. Nothing close to what you had once done,” Valarr teased, smiling softly at you. Baelor turned his head and gazed in your direction, his eyes meeting yours as you smirked a little. “You are far more interested in your uncle than me. Have you lost interest in me then?”
You tore your gaze from Baelor and smiled at Valarr, your eyes shining and a shiver running down your spine.
“Yes, dear cousin, unfortunately so. It is called growth, I fear. It is your father who entices me now.”